


Flogging Molly

by Angel Ascending (angel_in_ink)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Aftercare, Barbarians are Proficient with Whips I Checked, Comfort, Crying, Flogging, Gen, Non-Sexual Kink, Safewords, emotional catharsis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 03:08:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13941282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_in_ink/pseuds/Angel%20Ascending
Summary: Molly liked pain, but not in the way most people thought. To him the sting of metal drawn against flesh was neither cathartic or sexy. The sting, the blood, that meant danger and adrenaline and protecting his friends or himself. It was completely divorced from his other needs, needs he didn’t get to satisfy very often. After all, he only trusted one other person with that part of himself, and she was gone, more often than not.





	Flogging Molly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aunt_zelda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aunt_zelda/gifts).



> You ever come up with a title, and think, "Oh no, I can't possibly name this fic that," and then you go ahead and do it anyway? Yeah. Here we are. 
> 
> Written for aunt_zelda, because this is their fault. ^_^

Molly liked pain, but not in the way most people thought. To him the sting of metal drawn against flesh was neither cathartic or sexy. The sting, the blood, that meant danger and adrenaline and protecting his friends or himself. It was completely divorced from his other needs, needs he didn’t get to satisfy very often. After all, he only trusted one other person with that part of himself, and she was gone, more often than not.

Not tonight though. Tonight she was there, and so was he, and they were deep enough in the woods that no one else from their little company would be able to hear either of them. Molly focused on the rough feeling of the bark of the tree his hands were against and breathed in slowly. If they had been elsewhere, inside, somewhere safer, his hands would have been tied, but the woods could be home to many things, and if Molly was going to be surprised, he wanted his hands free. His swords lay wrapped in his coat as far a distance away from himself as he was comfortable with, his shirt folded carefully next to them, boots placed neatly alongside.

Molly heard Yasha walk up behind him, then her lips were at his ear as she reached for one of his hands, her fingers threading through his. He tended to go non-verbal during these times they had together, so they had a system of hand squeezes and other signals worked out just in case. He had to answer her questions with words if he had them, or squeezes if he didn’t, and if he couldn’t do either then everything stopped, immediately.

“Are you ready?” Yasha breathed in his ear, quiet and low.

“Yes,” Molly answered, and the shape of the word nearly stuck in his throat, but not because he didn’t want to say it. It had been so long since he had last been able to indulge. This wasn’t about sex, he wouldn’t have involved Yasha if it had been, it was emotional catharsis he was chasing.

“All right. It’s been awhile. I’m going to start with five. Say your safeword for me.”

Molly said it three times, once each in Common, Infernal, and Celestial, squeezing her hand each time for good measure.

“Good. We’ll begin then.” Yasha squeezed his hand once before letting go, and Molly placed it back on the tree in front of him. He heard Yasha walking away and counted the steps, heard the dry hiss of the single tail whip against the forest floor and tried not to brace himself for the hit. Tensing up changed the quality of the pain, and he didn’t want that.

The first hit, when it came, was a shock. It was always a shock, no matter how much he wanted it. The sting of the whip against his back, different from the sting of metal on flesh, the split second where his body didn’t register what had happened, then the slow burn of the pain licking along his nerves, oh, those were sweet. Yasha always gave him a few extra moments to savor the first hit.

Molly couldn’t remember how the topic of flogging had even come up in the first place, all those years ago, he just remembered Yasha’s calm acceptance of this part of himself, and her willingness to give Molly what he needed, as long as it went no further than pain and comfort, which was all Molly would ever ask of her. Fjord though, Molly had been beginning to think that maybe Fjord could be trusted with this part of him, and there the arrangement could be quite different.

The second hit drove that thought from Molly’s mind, and that was fine, that thought would keep until later. For the moment there was another blossom of pain, a little higher up from the first hit. Molly felt himself relaxing, felt his mind beginning to settle as the third hit came, then the fourth. The fifth landed poorly, creating a different sort of sting, and Molly hissed as he felt his heart rate start to speed up. That kind of sting meant danger, meant he wasn’t safe, they weren’t safe—

Yasha was at his side again, her hand in his. “Are you all right?”

“Give me a minute,” Molly said, breathing hard. “That last hit—“

“I’m sorry,” Yasha said, and then her other hand was on his back, there was a brief instant of warmth, and the sting faded. Molly let out another shuddering breath and felt his heart rate begin to slow again as the silence stretched out around them. After a minute or so, Molly squeezed Yasha’s hand once.

“Okay. Five and five now, all right?”

Five and five meant five hits, a check in, and another five hits, unless Molly or Yasha needed to stop. It was rare for Yasha to use her safeword, but the option was always available to her, and she never hesitated to use it when she needed to.

“Yes,” Molly managed to say. His back was fire, and there was something heavy in his chest that was ice, slowly melting.

“Okay,” Yasha said, and she squeezed his hand before walking away.

After a moment the hit came, the pain crawling across his skin. He gasped and felt the prickle of tears forming at the corners of his eyes. The second hit came right after the first, quick as a snake striking, and Molly felt something loosen in his chest as the tears quietly started to fall. Hits three and four left him with tears streaming down his face, and by hit five he could hear himself openly sobbing in a way he never would have done in front of anyone else, in any other situation. He had a feeling that out of the whole group he was probably the one who was most honest about his feelings, but that wasn’t saying anything really.

“Molly?” Yasha was in front of him now, and Molly realized he hadn’t heard her walk up, hadn’t felt her hand holding his. “You still with me?”

Molly’s words were gone, couldn’t get past the ice in his chest or the tears in his throat. He squeezed Yasha’s hand once, blinking back tears to focus on her face.

“Five more?”

One squeeze.

“Five more and then that’s it, Molly. After that we’re done.” Her voice was gentle but firm.

Molly squeezed her hand once more. Yasha squeezed back.

The last five hits were always the hardest, the ones Yasha put most, but Molly suspected not all, of her strength into. Those were the hits that left the best marks, that ached for days as a pleasant reminder of what they had done. He felt like he was being filled up with fire, with exquisite agony, like his own self was leaving him with his tears, and that’s what he wanted, what he _needed_ , just for a little while, to be burned from the inside out, to rise again, soaring, like the phoenix.

Molly leaned against the tree in front of him, and then Yasha was there, and he was leaning against her and she was solid, grounding, and he cried himself empty and nearly shook himself apart as she carefully held him, mindful of his back. When he was done crying, when he was empty of words and thoughts and tears, she made him drink water, then guided him to his bedroll. He curled up against her and there were no dreams, no nightmares, just Yasha’s soft voice singing him to sleep.

Molly woke the next morning feeling better than he had in months, refreshed, the ache in his back a dull throb that wasn’t unpleasant. His mind felt easy again, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Yasha stirred at the small sound and opened her eyes.

“Hey there. Feeling better?”

Molly nodded. “Much. How about you, are you okay?” Sometimes she wasn’t, after. Sometimes she was the one who got the shakes, and Molly had to hold her and stroke her hair and tell her everything was all right, that she was safe.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Yasha stretched, rubbing at her shoulder for a second.

“Thank you, For everything.” Molly said.

“Happy to help,” Yasha said, as she always did. “So what excuse are we using this time?”

“Damned if I know,” Molly said, rolling onto his back. He’d think of something clever in a minute, he was sure of it. Right then though, all he wanted to do was have a few more moments to himself to enjoy the pain climbing his spine like a ladder.

**Author's Note:**

> Three fics in three days. I can't even. 
> 
>  
> 
> I'm angel-ascending over on Tumblr if you want to come by and say hi!


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